I gave her a look. “Who I really am? You mean I still don’t fit neatly into one of your stereotypes?”
“I’m not sure you’re even human!” she shouted. “How is this possible? How does a carney have a private plane at his beck and call?”
I pulled a carrot out of my pocket and gave it to the guinea pig on my lap. She took it as if she were the queen of Sheba and deserved such things.
“My family owns this jet. We are independently wealthy.”
Ronnie sat back and chewed her lip. “I guess that explains how you got into Yale and your connections for Zerleg.”
“Don’t piss me off, Veronica. I got into Yale because of my brains. My family doesn’t believe in undue influence over things like that.” And that was sort of true. Undue influence to get your kid into a good school…no. Undue influence to use the CIA to bail your kid out of a minor skirmish in Botswana…yes. It just depended on how you looked at it.
“Right.” She rolled her eyes.
“You said you don’t know who I really am,” I said calmly. “What did you mean by that?”
Veronica chewed her lip. Something was up.
“Did Dekker say something to you?”
She nodded. “He told me I really didn’t know you. Who you are. What you are.”
Well, that stopped me in my tracks. What did Dekker know about me? I was off the grid. Hell, I didn’t even have a social security number.
“Oh, yes,” I said quietly. “You should definitely take the word of a man who kidnapped you and dumped you unconscious in the worst part of town.”
She threw her hand up into the air. “What is it with you men anyway? How in the hell did I end up in this weird situation? I was perfectly happy in my little apartment at the university. But now I’m on a carney’s private jet after being kidnapped by some Dutch wrestler in Mongolia!”
“That is a lot to think about. Maybe you’re bad at decision making?” I teased.
“The only bad decision I made was to think I had feelings for you, Coney Bombay!”
Now, that hurt.
Chapter Twenty-four
“The illegal, we do immediately. The unconstitutional takes a little longer.”
—HENRY KISSINGER
Luisa, the family’s staff on the Bombay private plane, interrupted us with plates of pastries and cups of tea. She smiled at me, touching me briefly on the shoulder before returning to her suite at the rear of the jet. She’d been with us for years, replacing her mother, Inez, who had worked with us since the 1950s. Luisa was petite and gorgeous, with a knockout grin and a sharp mind. She was only twenty-five, and most of my cousins had hit on her from time to time—with no success whatsoever. I never did. Maybe that was why she always flirted with me.
“And who was that?” Veronica asked, her voice a bit strained.
“That is Luisa,” I answered, sipping my tea. It was Darjeeling. My favorite.
“She’s a bit forward, isn’t she?” The jealousy she was trying so hard not to show was adorable.
“She likes me.” Why should I tell Veronica that Luisa and I were just associates? She wasn’t giving me anything on Dekker.
“Is she one of your carney groupies?” The words had a sharp edge to them.
“No.”
Veronica crossed her arms over her chest and fumed in silence for a moment. I took the opportunity to eat and drink.
The silence was tense, but I needed it to figure a few things out. First of all, what was I going to do with Ronnie? She would have to go home so I could continue to pursue Dekker. Maybe she’d take Sartre with her. That would give me an excuse to look her up when this assignment was over.
And what did Dekker mean when he said he knew who I was? I was a carney, a drifter, totally forgettable to most people. What could he know? The Bombay family of assassins had been a closely guarded secret since 2000 BCE. There was no way any vic could know about us.
Then again, a man like Dekker had many, many enemies. It made sense that he would guess there was a contract out on him, even if he didn’t necessarily know exactly who was targeting him.
Because of his contact with Veronica, he knew my name. He knew I was a Bombay. A chill slid down my spine. He could get to my family. That was bad. Very bad. I pulled out my cell phone and texted Monty. Within minutes he replied with an expletive I was pretty sure his mother didn’t let him use.
“Isn’t it dangerous to use a cell phone on a plane?” Veronica asked.
“No,” I answered, slipping the phone into my pocket.
“Aren’t you interfering with the plane’s guidance system or something?”
“No. It has nothing to do with that.”
“Why not?”
I turned to look at her. “The real reason they don’t want you to use cells on a plane is because you might crash the cell phone service by taking up too much of the power from towers on the land.”
She smirked. “And yours won’t?”
“No. Mine is special.”
Sartre squeaked and lunged off my lap toward Veronica. Ronnie responded by taking the little pig into her arms. Traitor.
“When we get to London, I’m getting off. The pilot will take you to your nearest airport. Will you take Sartre with you?”
She frowned. “You want me to go home? What are you going to do in London?”
“Take care of some business. I’ll pick up Sartre when I’m done.”
Ronnie shook her head. “No. I’m going with you.”
“What? No. You aren’t.” I hadn’t anticipated this reaction. I thought she’d just want to get as far away as possible. At least from me.
“You are going after Arje, aren’t you?”
“That’s between me and him, Veronica.”
She snorted. “Oh, yeah. I wasn’t involved at all.”
I thought about this. She was right. But I didn’t want her to get hurt again. And I needed time to sort out my feelings…without her around.
“I’m not going home, Cy,” she said firmly. “That’s the deal.”
“This isn’t your fight,” I replied. “He hurt you to get to me.”
“Then how do you know I’ll be safe back home?”
She was right. The safest place for Veronica Gale was with me. But I didn’t want her to be there when I killed him.
“And you are not backing out on your promise.”
My eyebrows went up. “My promise?”
She nodded smugly. “You said you’d help me solve Senator Anderson’s murder.”
Shit. I did. Didn’t I? “I can do that once I’ve taken care of Dekker.”
“And just what does ‘taken care of’ mean, anyway? Are you going to kill him?”
Veronica’s words vibrated through me. She hit too close to home. Did she think I was going to kill him?
“What did Arje Dekker tell you about me?”
She looked uncertain. “He said you were hired to kill him. Is that true?”
“No.” Yes.
Her shoulders relaxed. “Who is he? And why did he attack you like that?”
It kind of warmed my heart a bit that she was more concerned about him hurting me than him hurting her.
“He’s a mercenary. The worst kind. A mass murderer on a global scale.”
Ronnie looked shaken. “What do you mean?”
So I told her. I told her everything about the nice Dutchman she thought was so cute. And I left nothing to the imagination. She deserved to know the truth. And yes, I wanted her to hate him. Sue me.
“Oh, my God,” Veronica whispered when I was through. “I…I had no idea.”
“I’m sorry, Ronnie.” And I was. “But now you know you can’t stay with me. A man like that will kill you next time. He’s just not the sentimental type.”
“Why don’t you call Interpol or something? Why do you need to go after him?”
Good question. Too good. I had no answer. What was I going to say?
“Do you think someone like him was responsible
for Anderson’s murder?”
“What?” I hadn’t expected that response. “Ronnie, there’s no evidence Anderson was murdered.”
She actually unbuckled her seat belt and stood. “You said you would help me. You promised.” Veronica wavered a little unsteadily on her feet. Maybe she’d left the hospital too soon. I led her over to a divan and forced her to lie down.
“And I will. But you have to realize that one of the possibilities is that Anderson died of a heart attack.”
She nodded, but it was only a physical agreement. Her eyes told another story.
“Look, we have a few hours. Let’s go over what you have.” Then I could make good on my promise and change the subject. Maybe by the time we landed at Heathrow I could convince her to go home and drop this case. A two-for-one deal, if you will.
Veronica’s file on Senator Anderson was three inches thick. And because she had the time, she had managed to review more than one hundred and sixty-two suspects. These suspects had, at one time or another, threatened the senator. Unfortunately, she included in with the serious threats people who had threatened to have city hall nab him for not mowing his grass, two pastors, a thirteen-year-old paper boy and a conservative talk-show host.
“Okay. Let’s narrow this down a bit,” I began. “I mean, do you really think Oprah’s hairstylist wanted to kill a senator?”
“Yeah, I know.” Ronnie sighed and brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I guess I went a little crazy. Then again, the woman did make his hair look ridiculous. But I see where you’re going with this.”
“There has to be a motive for murder. And I’m still not convinced it was anything more than a bad heart.” I held up two medical forms. “How in the hell did you get these?” Wasn’t anything confidential anymore?
“From another theorist.”
“Well, they prove that the man had a rotten ticker. And there’s a lot of stress in holding public office.”
“I know that, but something about the whole thing just doesn’t feel right. You know?”
“Fine. Let’s go through these names, then.”
The rest of the flight went quickly as we went through each name on her extensive list. Veronica was willing to concede that Anderson’s elderly kindergarten teacher and his neighbors weren’t proper suspects. I had to admit, her notes were pretty thorough. Anderson did have a lot of enemies. There were a lot of people who felt he was too revolutionary in his ideas.
“All right. So we have it narrowed down to four people, and you have excellent penmanship.” I stretched my arms above my head. The shoulder was starting to heal now that I wasn’t taking a beating every day. “But I think your research is pretty one-sided.”
Veronica was making piles from the pages we sorted. “How so?”
“Well, you only have information from major newspapers, liberal magazines and networks here. What about alternative papers, independent radio, the international press?”
“Well, I admit I haven’t really gone that far.” She looked tired and more than a little concerned. I suppose I could’ve given her a hard time about the basic tenets of scholarly research, but I just couldn’t do it. She’d been through too much.
I pulled her close and silently held her in my arms until the plane landed.
Chapter Twenty-five
Emperor Zhark: What’s the point in possessing a devastatingly destructive death ray if you can’t use it?
—THE WELL OF LOST PLOTS, JASPER FFORDE
London. One of my favorite cities. I did some postgraduate work once upon a time there and loved it ever since. It was a city where history came alive and grappled with itself. I still had some valuable contacts there. And it gave me an idea.
“Who are you calling?” Veronica asked.
“A friend who can help you.” And hopefully take you off my hands and keep you safe while I flush out my vic.
A few minutes later, I was hustling Ronnie through the airport toward the baggage claim.
“Richard works for the Sentinel. It’s the largest independent paper in the world, and it can give you a more unbiased perspective,” I said as I hailed a taxi.
“He’s waiting for you at the door.” I told the driver where to take Veronica, and to see that she got there safely I threw in one hundred euros. “I’ll meet up with you later.”
Ronnie looked at me in a way that said she wasn’t sure about this idea. But I was. And I could feel it as I shut the door on her and smacked the cab, sending it on its way.
“Monty,” I said into the Bluetooth I’d just inserted. “Where is Vic?”
“Hey, Coney! It’s Jack!” Missi’s other twin greeted me on the phone. Great, now I’d have to explain what I was doing all over again.
“We’ve been following him on the airport security cameras ever since the plane landed. He’s in the shopping area,” Jack said before I could reply. “Did you know Mom’s a contestant on a reality show?”
“I heard that,” I said quickly as I made my way through the terminal. “Where in the shopping area?”
“Looks like a toy store or something. It’s hard to tell…Hold on. I’ll find out what toy stores are there and map it for you on the phone,” Jack said, and within seconds I could see a little red dot indicating Dekker’s position. It looked as though he was in a room about two hundred yards on my right.
“Keep it on until I make visual confirmation.”
“Roger that,” Jack answered. I was pretty impressed with the boys. I made a mental note to knit that bag Missi wanted using the cashmere I’d gotten from Mongolia.
It should be said that it isn’t easy walking fast without looking like you are walking fast. There really is only one place where everyone moves that way. And that is an airport. As I closed in on the location, I congratulated myself for getting rid of Ronnie and fulfilling my promise to her at the same time.
“You should be within range now.” Jackson’s voice rang in my ear. Oh, yeah, the assignment.
“I see it,” I answered. Dekker was standing with his back to me. Apparently he didn’t think I would catch up to him. That was his fault for underestimating technology in a place as security conscious as an international airport.
I suppose I could have said something clever or tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. That’s what they do in movies. But that’s not how it is done in real life. I came up behind him and grabbed him by the neck. Forcing his head down I managed to make it connect with the table full of stuffed badgers in front of him.
Unfortunately for me, the table had stuffed badgers on it and I wasn’t able to stun him. Arje Dekker pushed up and back, shoving me into a display of fluffy bunnies. By the time I steadied myself, he’d turned around and realized who I was.
“Bombay!” Dekker cried, and reached for something to throw at me.
I stood there in shock as a Slinky collided with my forehead. My hands felt around me and grasped something square and plastic. I whipped the Etch A Sketch at his head, the tablet careening off his chin. As he recovered from the blow, I grabbed him by the lapels and dragged him deeper into the store. I hoped there would be a back door somewhere, since I noticed we were drawing a small crowd.
Dekker kicked out, connecting with my left shin, and I dropped him for a second. That was all the time he needed to grab a weapon. Without thinking I pulled a similar item from a box. And that was how we ended up fighting a duel with plastic lightsabers.
We must have looked strange—two middle-aged men slashing away at each other with toy swords complete with sound effects. I managed to land the majority of blows and went for the final thrust, only to have the collapsible lightsaber, um, collapse. So I threw the handle at him and grabbed him again, dragging him toward the back wall.
Dekker reached out and snagged a display case. I threw him through it, causing no less than thirty or forty Teletubbies to begin singing nonsensically. By now I was getting worried. The shop probably had surveillance cameras, and we’d put on quite a show
. In fact, I’d bet Jackson was laughing hysterically. I was a bit surprised none of the staff intervened or even rebuked us. No doubt airport security had been called.
I pulled Dekker by the collar toward the back door. It was a bathroom. No exit. Dekker shoved me backward and locked himself inside. Fantastic.
There was shouting in the distance. The authorities were on their way. Killing Vic was out of the question.
“Jack, can you do something about the surveillance cameras?” I asked quietly while taking off my jacket, and started messing with the doorknob. It was a simple lock, easy to pick if I had the right tools.
“Already did. They have nothing but static,” he responded. “It’s a neat little program Mom came up with….”
The boy was chatty, just like his mom. “Thanks, Jack. I’ll check in with you later.” I hung up, quickly found a chemistry set back at the toy store and punched through the box. Science kits usually have probes and other tools you can use to pick a lock. Unfortunately, the box had that plastic clamshell casing that keeps everything pretty and safe inside. I didn’t have time for this frustration. Ignoring the sharp edges that tore at my flesh, I ripped the plastic apart and retrieved the tools.
I managed to get the door open quickly and dragged Dekker out of the bathroom and into the mall. It wasn’t easy to look normal when you were bleeding and dragging a man behind you (who clearly had no interest in going with you) who was also bleeding. It wouldn’t be long before we attracted enough attention to cause trouble. And I didn’t have time for that. If I took him to the plane I could secure him and go after Ronnie. But the hangar was too far away. I was much closer to the baggage carousel.
Pulling my protesting vic behind me, I stepped outside and hailed a cab. To his credit, the driver didn’t give my situation a second glance, and soon we were headed to the newspaper where Ronnie was researching.
The ride was short, but I had enough time to bind Dekker’s hands with his own belt. The cab pulled up to our stop and I paid him and dragged Dekker out and into the building.
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